The Quill
by ButterfliesToDust
Summary: Harry has an accident that sends him to Professor Snape.


**(Notes and disclaimer at the end)**

* * *

"Harry, c'mere."

"Yeah, look at this."

Harry made a slight Face, making his way over to the twins. "What is it?" he asked.

Fred and George grinned. "This."

It looked like a Ready-Ink Quill.

"It looks like a Ready-Ink Quill," he stated rather plainly.

Two sets of eyes lit up. "Yes," said Fred, "that's what it _looks_ like."

George nodded. "Mh-hm. But in reality, it's a blood quill in disguise!"

"A... blood quill?" His reply was met with sighs and eyerolls.

"When you use a blood quill, instead of the words appearing on paper, it appears etched into your skin. Yeah, we know it's a bit creepy but they're generally harmless unless you're some kind of masochistic nutter or have detention with a complete arse."

"What do you want me to do with it?"

The twins shrugged and George placed the quill in his palm.

"Oh, nothing."

"Yeah, nothing really. Although, perhaps..."

"...you'd be wanting to just..."

"..._slip_ this into Malfoy's bag?"

They winked before turning to retreat, leaving Harry by himself. Sighing, he just tossed the quill into his bag with his other things and continued on his way.

"You going to start on that Potions essay?" Ron looked at him questioningly.

"Yeah, I suppose I'd better."

Ron shuddered. "Thirty inches! I can't believe the git!" Hesitantly he rose, closing the Quidditch magazine he'd previously been perusing. "I'm going to do down to the library to look for Hermione. You coming with?"

Harry shook his head. "No, I think I'll just stay here and try to get started on my own."

A shrug. "Your choice," his friend replied, in a tone that really seemed to say, "_Your loss._"

Twenty minutes later and Harry was starting to wonder if he should've gone with Ron. His textbook was open before him and he'd only gotten two, three sentences written at most. He reached for his quill and accidentally grabbed a bit too hard; it broke in his hand.

"Bugger," he muttered, tossing the now-useless quill aside and rummaging in his bag for another one. When'd he get a Ready-Ink Quill? The stuff you find at the bottom of your bag... Shrugging to himself, Harry went back to skimming the text.

"Yeah, like _this_ is any help," he snorted, after reading a particularly vague paragraph. His eyes traveled the page to find it almost completely irrelevant to the topic. He brought the quill tip down on his sheet of parchment and jerked his hand back sharply. A rip appeared in the center of the page.

"Shite!"

At the same time a cut appeared, starting on the center of the back of his hand and ending several inches past his wrist. It was already welling up with blood. For a moment, Harry just stared at that blood, bewildered. He'd dropped the quill; he bent to pick it up with his left hand. Then it hit him. Fred. George. The blood quill bearing the faux brand name.

"Shite," he mumbled again. He suddenly found himself wishing that the twins (or at least one of them) were there so he could curse at them instead of just to himself.

A drop of blood wavered and rolled down his skin, falling to disappear into the carpet. He couldn't go to Madam Pomfrey's, he knew that. She didn't seem likely to believe that it was an accident and even if she did she would regard him with that suspicious manner and he really didn't want any trouble.

_I could go to Snape._

Harry almost did a double-take at that thought. _Snape?_ he replied to himself.

The Potions Master _was_ likely to give him a bit of trouble, yes, but wouldn't mother hen him like the Hospital Wing nurse would. Snape would probably just complain, spout some sarcastic insult having to do with his status as the Boy-Who-Lived, give him a potion and tell him not to come rushing, bleeding back to him any time he felt like being stupid.

Harry found himself thinking that he rather fancied that option over seeing Madam Pomfrey again so soon. He'd just been in the Hospital Wing last week due to a concussion and some scrapes from Quidditch and the expression she'd given him had been positively treacherous.

He rose. "So... Snape it is then." He laughed derisively, wondering if he'd ever think _that_ again. No, probably not.

As he stood, something warm and wet broke him from his reverie. He was starting to bleed on the carpet and it was no mere trickle. Granted, he didn't feel about ready to pass out but it wasn't the most comfortable feeling in the world, nonetheless. Grumbling a bit to no one in particular, Harry donned a Gryffindor house sweater and set to making his way to Snape's office.

Well, here he was. Harry inhaled deeply before raising his fist to knock. The blood seemed to have dried, darkening the maroon and staining the gold of his sleeve. He'd have to take care of that later.

"What _is_ it?"

Harry took that to mean, "_You may enter._"

Severus Snape regarded him with an expression of distaste. "May I _help_ you Potter?"

"Um, actually, yeah, you can..." Instinctively, he curled his fingers around his shirtsleeves.

The man raised an eyebrow. "Well? Spit it out or leave, I haven't got all night!"

"I need a potion."

For a brief moment, curiosity seemed to appear in Snape's dark eyes. Or maybe Harry was just imagining it there.

"Just what _kind_ of potion?" Snape was standing now.

"A Healing Potion."

"A Healing Potion?" Snape repeated. "Tell me, just _why_ couldn't you go to Madam Pomfrey for one?" And when Harry remained silent, "Well?"

Harry inhaled, tongue darting out to moisten his lips. "You see... I really don't want any trouble."

Snape made a snorting noise, as if to say, "_So you came_ here?"

"I had an... accident," Harry continued, fingers curling and uncurling around the hem of his right sleeve.

"Quit dawdling!" his professor snapped.

"What?" Harry seemed a bit taken aback.

"Show me this 'accident'," Snape drawled, with a little gesture.

Wincing at the pull of the fabric away from the dried blood, Harry pushed his sleeve up. Snape's eyebrow arched so sharply Harry wondered if it might snap. Harry just shrugged. "Blood quill. Thought it was one of my regular ones." What else could he tell the man?

Snape shook his head, mumbling to himself something about how, "_...only you could manage..."_ He made for his cabinets nonetheless. "Here." He thrust a bottle at Harry. "Drink it down. It will heal the wound. The scarring shall fade out on its own in a few days."

The potion tasted positively horrible, but really, Harry was used to that by now. Instantly, the blood started fading and the twinge he'd been feeling lessened as the skin moved closer and closer until it was sealed, leaving a relatively thin pink line on his skin.

Harry made his way for the door. "I won't be back."

_Thanks._

A 'pfft.' "I'd hope not."

_You're welcome. _

_. . . La Fin_. . .

* * *

**Notes and such: Well, it's done. I know this might come across as rather odd to some of you readers, but the idea for it just sort of 'popped' into my head and wouldn't go away until it was written. Other than that, I really have no explanations for it. **

**Disclaimer: All places and characters of HP are property of J.K. I'm just toying with them for my own amusement. **


End file.
